


Obfuscator v. Intimidator

by Muffie



Series: Meetings [1]
Category: Stargate Atlantis, The Sentinel
Genre: Blair Sandburg: Shaman, Crossover, Humor, M/M, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-10
Updated: 2012-03-10
Packaged: 2017-11-01 18:20:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/359832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muffie/pseuds/Muffie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone apparently told a certain hippy witchdoctor punk that he could do research on Atlantis, and then make recommendations based on that research. The smartest man in two galaxies has a few opinions about that. [First posted: June 30, 2011]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Obfuscator v. Intimidator

**Author's Note:**

> Refers to SGA: Sanctuary. Set directly after (late Season 1). The Sentinel is post-TSbyBS. Time warping to align The Sentinel time-frame with SGA's time-frame is assumed.

The only time Rodney McKay ever actually had any respect for that little shit, that Barney Snowburg moron was when that Barney Snowburg moron threw up on Chaya Sar. Sure, Sandbag offended everyone on Proculus, including their—snort— _goddess_ , but Rodney offended everyone everywhere on a regular basis. He quite enjoyed it, actually, because while offended people wanted him to kiss their ass to get back in their good graces, they never actually _expected_ him to kiss ass for anything at all. He could live, and happily, knowing he was the biggest asshole in Pegasus. He couldn't claim the Milky Way because Jack O'Neill had that one in the bag. Right now though, Rodney not only held Sandbar in contempt, he was almost tempted enough to throttle the little shit, even with that ridiculous large Neanderthal Lawson or something lounging next to the little shit at the conference table, looking at that little shit like he hung the moon, stars, _and_ single-handedly developed the ZPM.

Sheppard was staring at the little shit in complete fascination.

Rodney cut Snidebarge off with a slash of his hand through the air in front of him. "No. No. And no!" He pounded on the table with his fist for good measure. " _I_ am the Chief of Science around here for a damned good reason, Snowblow, and you're going to have to get over it. Period."

"I'm aware of that, Rodney," Sandblaster said, an amused tilt in his lips.

It annoyed the hell out of him that the little shit called him by his first name, but he wouldn't give the little shit the satisfaction. He scowled at Sheppard instead. "Fine. Next order of bu—"

Sniggles cleared his throat. "My recommendation is that you step aside because, frankly, you suck at it."

Sheppard covered his mouth with his hand and looked down at the table in front of him. Elizabeth winced. The Neanderthal grinned. The little shit didn't so much as blink.

"You _barely_ have a PhD in educated _guessing_ with occasional math thrown in to make it look like science." Rodney glared the little shit down. "I hardly think _you're_ qualified to decide who should be in charge of asking the customer if they want fries with that, let alone who should be in charge of science. _Real_ science, not that fake floofy stuff you shake rattles at and read bones for."

"My PhD taught me a lot about people, Rodney," Salisbury said in that annoying mild tone of voice that clearly indicated that Sankabank was a moron. At least to Rodney. Everyone else in the room seemed to be lapping up all of that fake civility masquerading as intelligence.

Rodney lifted his chin up, even if it did make him look aggressively obnoxious, according to some ex-girlfriend, because no soft science idiot would get away with challenging him. "My _actual_ PhDs, _both_ of them, taught me a lot about _saving_ everyone's lives with _real_ science. _Both_ of my PhDs, astrophysics and mechanical engineering, make _me_ the person who knows the absolute most about this city, the stargate network, wormholes, ancient technology, and how to administer a department full of complete imbeciles, such as yourself."

Sambeg leaned back in his chair and smiled, fingers laced across his belly. "I agree that you're a genius with physics and engineering, Rodney."

Rodney sniffed, as this was merely his due.

"But you totally suck at administration. There is nothing in either physics nor engineering that inherently trains anyone to deal with people most effectively. The results of your inability to administer your staff are very clear to anyone who looks."

Rodney sneered. "If people expect me to hold their hands, sing campfire songs, and kiss away booboos, they're in the wrong galaxy. They should have stayed at Berkley in their Birkenstocks and sit ins."

"While your leadership style is, well, detrimental to actual leadership," the little shit said, "your clear lack of ability as chief science officer is further reaching than that. Your personal prejudices get in your way. The projects you green light are often ridiculous. Unless they pertain specifically to your field of study or the personnel are under your direct supervision during the research."

Rodney grinned. Oh, he had Samovar now. If Atlantis was Oz, there would only be one wizard behind the curtain, and that wizard would be Rodney. Smackback had no chance at all. Of course, the little shit was an idiot and what could you expect from idiots except idiocy? "I don't care about the hurt feelings in the _soft_ sciences. They can whine and cry about not getting their way to Heightmeyer. Our scientific priorities on this mission are clear. We must make sure Atlantis is sound, there is adequate power, and that we become as self-sufficient as possible because the wraith make trade a hit and miss prospect. Social sciences will just have to put everyone's _lives_ first and their own ridiculous projects aside until no one is in danger of, oh, I don't know, _dying_." Rodney leaned back in his chair, smirked, and waved his hand. "So get over the big no I gave you on whatever soft science project that you're holding near and dear in your idiot brain and start working for our survival. Like the rest of us are." Rodney wrinkled his nose a bit. "Whoever approved this little," he waved a hand, " _study_ of yours, a study that is a complete waste of my very valuable time, is in serious trouble."

Sanbrag smiled. Mildly. Again. "You approved my little," he waved a hand, " _study_."

Rodney sneered again. "I hardly think so. I wouldn't approve anything this ridiculous."

"My proposal called it a study to improve science staffing efficiency, work ethic, and obedience to the scientific chain of command." The little shit was still smiling. "I proposed to spend two weeks observing the various departments to discover where there were breakdowns in communication, misunderstanding of project priorities, misappropriation of mission-essential time and resources, and deferrals of approved projects in favor of private, unapproved projects."

Rodney frowned. He'd approved that study. He figured it would be barely useful at worst and at best he'd get the dirt on who was fucking around and when they were doing it.

"Once we settled into Atlantis, it took me one week to see the pattern in your project priorities and the buzz words you like. It took me another week to verify that word had spread and personal projects that were not mission-essential were being approved, by you, because they contained phrases such as power management, conservation without rationing, and food production. A week before I sent my proposal to you, I reviewed the reports of a few of these projects. They were full of words and phrases that made you happy but had little to report on the real research taking place. Your prejudice and ignorance of sciences that aren't physics has made you sloppy. You're particularly bad at selecting appropriate work for biologists, botanists, sociologists, anthropologists, and other life sciences. You know, in theory, what they do, but you have so little respect for it that you either don't know how to determine what's a mission-essential project and what's not, or you don't care to know. You have neither the time nor the knowledge to generate projects for the majority of your staff to research productively. You've been manipulated by three-quarters of your scientists for the past five months."

Rodney clenched his jaw shut. No one else in the room said a thing. They barely moved, or even breathed.

"I recommend that you step aside as the overall head of science and stick to your departments, physics, the stargate network, and engineering. Someone else should administrate the sciences. As the head of the departments that are currently most crucial to our continued survival, your recommendations as to what's mission-essential and what's not should weigh heavier than, say, the social science department head's recommendations."

"Bullshit," Rodney said. "I've done a far better job than anyone else could possibly hope. The power reclamation alone has salvaged our ability to continue working on this city."

"You have biologists studying whales, Rodney. Biologists should be investigating the wraith and the animals native to this planet as potential food sources. Whales don't qualify because these display signs of sentience and, even if it were conscionable to hunt them for food, we simply do not have the means or equipment to do so, something you already know. You have anthropologists comparing the Athosian culture to native Earth cultures and how they developed under millennia of the wraith threat. They should be collaborating with biologists on developing an active picture of wraith culture and behavior. Both anthropology and sociology should be working on developing and refining first contact protocols and creating a list of recommendations for continuing contact with potential allies. Having a solid picture of a new culture's socio-political landscape can help us develop alliances because subsequent contact teams will have an idea how to approach and communicate with potential allies rather than just wing it. Winging it has proved to be a hit and miss approach in both SGC and Atlantis treaty negotiations in the past." The little shit continued to smile. "I have numbers on that, if you'd like to review the research." 

Rodney frowned. "I—"

"I believe I've heard enough, gentlemen," Elizabeth cut in brusquely. "Thank you for your recommendations, Dr. Sandburg."

Smallbark beamed at Elizabeth. "You're welcome, Dr. Weir." Ass kisser.

"You can't possibly think that this," Rodney waved at hand at the little shit, "soft science _idiot_ has anything worthwhile to say? He's only here because O'Neill's Neanderthal pet," Rodney jabbed a finger toward El-whatever, "wouldn't leave Earth without him!"

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. "I will be reviewing the situation personally, Rodney."

Sheppard leaned back in his chair, hands cupped behind his head. "Don't worry, buddy, we'll get to the bottom of this."

The Neanderthal just smirked.

Three days later, Sheppard yanked him from some very important work in his lab to haul him to another one of Snagbart's ridiculous meetings. It was short and to the point. In the space of five minutes, Elizabeth had eliminated the Chief Science Officer position entirely. Rodney was still head of physics and engineering, as well as head of all of the hard sciences. Smugburg, who was gaping like a poisonous fish of some kind, was put in charge of the soft sciences and made administrator of all sciences in coordination with Rodney. Essentially, Rodney wrote the guidelines on what the research priority lists would be and Smallbrain would approve or reject projects based on those guidelines. Essentially, Rodney got to decide what was important and what wasn't in the grand scheme of things and Smagbag was in charge of making it so with all of the petty details and the incompetents that were supposed to carry out research.

If it hadn't been for the fact that the little shit was to be his administrative assistant, this set up would actually be ideal. Rodney would still be in charge, but he wouldn't have to deal with all the crap that came with being in charge.

Huh. If he did it all through email, he wouldn't actually have to deal with the little shit, either. Rodney started to smile, especially after he noted Spankburg was looking like he'd eaten a rotten almost-pear. This could really work out for him. Oh yes, this could definitely work.

Snugband groaned, as if in complete misery, and dropped his forehead into his hands.


End file.
